The Noble House of Black
by daydream11
Summary: Multiple Characters. Those of the Noble House of Black are proud, complex, and fiercely loyal to their own. They're the night light in a dark room, the surprising shadowy corner in a sunny hall. No, you don't truly know them. You only think you do.
1. Cry

**The Noble House of Black**

_Cry_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 10, 2009

* * *

The bed lowered on one side, and Andromeda groggily opened her eyes. A dark shadow loomed over her, tall and smelling of lemons, before it settled down beside her. Andromeda rolled over to the opposite end, granting Bellatrix room on the large bed. Her sister burrowed under the thick comforter, leaving only her black curls visible.

Andromeda lifted the comforter and disappeared under it herself. Bellatrix moved onto her side, turned away. All Andromeda could see was her back, and she cuddled the other witch, one arm around her body, her hand stroking Bellatrix's squishy stomach. Bellatrix breathed a sigh of satisfaction and snuggled closer, her body yielding to Andromeda's uncomplaining embrace.

Bellatrix took Andromeda's hand and guided it to her own left one, to the heavy ring that now adorned her finger. Hot, itchy tears spilled down her cheeks as she sobbed, keeping her gasps muffled. A silent movement in one direction and a Silencing Charm allowed Bellatrix to scream, her voice shaky and helpless. Andromeda massaged Bellatrix, encouraged her to _please, let it all out_, allowing her to vent herself into a dreamless sleep, better than what any draught could offer her. Andromeda kissed the sticky trails the tears had left behind and permitted herself the luxury of falling asleep.

She considered staying up all night in case Bellatrix needed her, but Bella would understand if she didn't, understand that she, too, required rest. (She _would_, right?)

Andromeda woke up alone the following morning, Bellatrix gone from her bed sometime during the night and leaving no obvious sign that she had been there at all. Andromeda sighed, doing her best to reel in the feelings of abandonment that decided to visit her at that moment. She reached under her and flipped the pillow to the cooler side, stopping abruptly when she noticed the streaks of old face paint that adorned it. Sitting up, she clutched the pillow to her chest, heaving dry cries that left her empty and rejected. Without forming an actual thought in her head about it, Andromeda knew that something between her and Bellatrix had undeniably, irrevocably, _completely_ changed. So she did nothing.

On Bella's wedding day, Andromeda stood beside her, the default maid of honor. The two hadn't talked since that night, that final moment of weakness from the eldest Black daughter, but Andromeda still had duties to attend to, traditions that rivalries didn't precede. Bellatrix had done more than ignore her that day: she had denied her entire existence. (To ignore is to acknowledge, and if one isn't acknowledged once can't be ignored. Wonderful Slytherin logic they both could easily understand.) Andromeda had spent the entire day, from morning to early evening, hiding her feelings of betrayal. The last glance Andromeda ever had from her sister – the very last, thrown from a dark bride in tasteful bridal robes, every inch of her proud and invulnerable – was one of contempt.

_This is_ your _fault_, it said.

Or maybe that was Andromeda's conscience speaking, the part that told her that she had utterly failed her eldest sister.

Beside Bellatrix's tomb, Andromeda decided that there was little she could have done, if only because her sister would not have let her. Stubbornly, she added that Bellatrix was too arrogant to give anybody the chance to help her, that she would have brushed off every attempt and claimed that she was doing just fine, thank you very much.

But… _but_… and Andromeda genuinely wished that she could keep this realization away, this sickening understanding that Bella would have done all that, yes, and it was absolutely true that Bella handled her marriage well on her own, but Andromeda had also never tried to support her sister. Suddenly, after almost three decades of not comprehending this vital part of her deceased sister, she understood: Andromeda had never tried to help, had never fought for her sister and let her know that she, Andromeda, was on her, Bellatrix's side, and really, that's all that Bella had wanted.

It was all that Bellatrix had _needed_, Andromeda's trying and fighting. Because – now Andromeda understood, so quickly that it left her dizzy – Bella had known there was no way out, not any that she deemed as a worthy exchange for a life of disgrace. Bellatrix had only wanted the assurance that she wasn't alone, that somebody was on her side. Andromeda had simply let her go with no words spoken, and because Bellatrix believed – now it became so clear! – that Andromeda had not cared, and Bella had never trusted her or anyone else again. Andromeda now knew this, and it left her weak.

More than failed, then. _Wronged._

Andromeda owed Bellatrix an apology.

* * *

**Author's Note:** "Cry" is one of the first _Harry Potter_ fanfics I've ever written; I only read the books this past spring. This series consists of fifteen one-shots and drabbles that are related in that when I wrote the series, each fic led to the next, even though I didn't write them in order. As always, everything related to Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.


	2. Curiosity

**The Noble House of Black**

_Curiosity_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 28, 2009

* * *

The pair stepped out onto the balcony, both of them sighing with pleasure when their heated skin came into contact with the winter air. The roar of voices dimmed once Lucius shut the door behind them, though they could still hear the din of laughter and music coming from the New Year's Ball they had just left behind. Wrapped in Lucius' cape, Narcissa didn't find herself cold, and her suitor's sweet smile – always for her, _only_ for her – warmed her in ways the cape couldn't quite manage. The two of them stood side by side, barely touching and very still, with only a slight tremor in their hands that betrayed the adrenaline rush both of them felt just then.

"Miss Black," Lucius said. "I must express my gratitude for your company this evening." He took her hand and kissed its palm, his soft lips lingering, his breath tickling her skin. She blushed in the fairy light, and flushed still when she realized that he had caught it.

"It was my pleasure," she replied. Impulsively she reached out for a loose hair; she had noticed it falling out of his normally impeccable hair tie and had been itching to place it back to rights. Narcissa gasped when he caught her arm and kissed the crook inside her elbow. Shivering, she trembled as he trailed kisses along her arms and up her neck. He kissed her jaw; his lips were so warm and _much too close_ to her own, and for a moment Narcissa held her breath, her body shaking underneath Lucius' firm hold.

And then he had her close, her head against his chest, fingers stroking her neck in a way that was not appropriate, and why wouldn't he leave her be? "We should go inside," she whispered, pushing him away. "My mother would want to know where I am." Lucius kissed her again, on her cheek, but even this innocent touch made her squirm. Narcissa Black did _not_ squirm.

Until tonight, that is.

She chanced a glance and met his eyes; bright and gray, they looked back with what Narcissa, with all of her seventeen years, was now able to describe as lust. She knew this only because she felt this herself, and if she didn't leave his presence right then she would do something Unmentionable, and the thought alone had her shifting uncomfortably. _Shifting_. Narcissa met Lucius' gaze again, with the frank need.

She found herself reaching for him again, and this time she would kiss him properly and keep better control, but before she could press her lips against his light and laughter spilled onto the balcony, and there was Bella dragging her away from him. Narcissa glimpsed behind her and Lucius was still there, and so was that look in his eyes, and another that promised later, that they could meet _later_.

But when, exactly, was later?


	3. Spoiled

**The Noble House of Black**

_Spoiled_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 4, 2009

* * *

"Mother has spoiled you, all the way up to your wedding day."

_Ignore her antagonizing words_, I told myself, and willed myself not to hunch – or shiver, or do anything at all – as she slid onto the bench beside me. I met her eyes in the mirror and smiled briefly. Bellatrix grinned.

"Your _own_ gown, Cissy, to be worn for a man of your _own_ choosing, to be _lovingly_ –" she said the word as if she mocked it (she did), rolling it around her mouth like the childish toy she thought it to be, because she knew, as most other ladies of Quality knew, that love and its variations hardly existed in their (_her_) reality.

"Lovingly, yes?" I leaned forward, away from her, and applied rouge to my cheeks. Only a touch. I must look alive, not feverish. In the mirror I saw Bella lift her brows at me. Insolence, even from her favorite sister (well, her only sister), never did sit well with her. Yet, I figured, how much damage could she truly deliver me only an hour before I become Mrs. Lucius Malfoy? Not much, if any, and I knew it. She knew it. That knowledge had her clutching ever so slightly at her own gown. I decided to keep a smirk off of my face. No need to push her any further, because I already had the upper hand. Glorious.

"_Lovingly_ taken off for a night of tender passion worthy of any tasteless Muggle novel."

"You have read tasteless Muggle novels?"

"You have not? Pity, you happen to be missing out on some great entertainment."

Entertainment, to be sure. I glanced down at the long sleeves covering my sister's arms, concealing more than a certain Mark, and wondered – no, knew – that Bella yearned for the tender passion in her tasteless Muggle novels. Such a shame. I slipped a small jar of makeup into her gown's pocket. No need to speak of it.

"Mother could hardly have allowed her last daughter to leave her home without a proper farewell," I said, my voice light and airy. Bella didn't reply. The rest of that statement needn't be spoken; it was understood just as well silently. We were both done with this conversation, with the masked taunts and the hidden jealousy and the careful sidestepping. One more word about my future husband and my wedding day and we would venture into nasty territory. Neither of us wanted that. _Bella_ didn't want that. As always, she had received the short end of the stick – even worse than Andromeda, but I dared not say that – and I the best. Why pour more salt into wounds? It did us no good.

She got up then, kissed my cheek softly, and left me alone once more. I finished with my makeup and mother came to tie me into my gown and dress my hair. A beautiful new necklace, a precious antique bracelet, a _smile_, and a _giddy laugh_, and all from _Mother_ (of all people!).

Spoiled, indeed.


	4. Don't Ask for Help

**The Noble House of Black**

_(Don't) Ask for Help_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 5, 2009

* * *

"I cannot allow my son to face a possible death without 'possible' giving him a fair chance at life." Narcissa glared at the two others occupying the small parlor. Bellatrix's complexion was ruddy and her breathing heavy; Narcissa could tell she wished to say something, _anything_, to talk Narcissa out of what the younger woman planned to do, but her sister held her tongue. Lucius only met her gaze with dejected sadness.

Narcissa had no time for dejected sadness. "I'm not the least bit sorry for protecting Draco," she told her husband, her voice full of maternal protectiveness and pain, "and I will keep him alive even if it means I must chance my own life." Lucius shuddered and closed his eyes. For a few moments, Narcissa hated him and resented his sorry resignation. She could – she _would_ – do this on her own, then. She had no other choice. There weren't any others left.

"I will ask help of whomever I please." Narcissa turned to her eldest sister. "And you will not stop me." With that, Narcissa turned sharply on her heels once and promptly Disapparated.

Lucius and Bellatrix sat in stunned silence alone before Bellatrix hurriedly stood up. Lucius stopped her with one hand on a satin-covered arm. "Keep her safe," he pleaded. She yanked her arm out of his cool grasp and glowered at him.

"You still _ask_," she growled, her hand turned white as she clutched her wand tightly. "You _still_ ask. To this day you have such nerve to insult me." She bent down low to meet his face, grasping it in one hand so that he'd be forced to look at her. "She was my sister before she was your wife, and apparently, blood still holds two stronger than any love union, because it appears as if I'm the only one in this room who will _dare_ to 'keep her safe.' I have much more to lose than you do, Lucius, by going after her." She pushed his face away and disappeared from the parlor.

Lucius was left alone once the dark-haired woman left for her sister. He ignored the feeling of failure as he took another sip from the drink in his hand.


	5. Ordinary

**The Noble House of Black**

_Ordinary_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 13, 2009

* * *

Narcissa waited in the hall; she was seated on a small, cushioned bench a little away and to the side from the east wing's doorway. It was too early to be awake. She ought to have been in bed for yet another hour, but she had risen especially early in order to welcome her husband home. Narcissa did not bother to check the time on the grandfather clock nearby. Lucius would be home soon, and he would need her when he arrived.

He stumbled through the hallway then, not at all startling her. Standing up, she reached out for him, careful to avoid holding him to tightly as to not disturb any of his new bruises. He was wounded, fresh blood spilling onto her robes from some undiscovered source, but she didn't flinch (or gag, or feel the least bit faint). He also walked with a limp, his breath hitching with every step he took, but the pair arrived in their quarters nonetheless, even if the walk, normally only four minutes, took a little over an hour.

Narcissa laid Lucius down smoothly on their bed, taking extra care not to crush his spine any further. With easy, practiced hands she removed his hair tie, his clothing, his boots until he lay naked in front of her. After taking her wand over his body and coaxing him to swallow the medicinal potions she brewed, being mindful to fully heal the damage and ease the pain inflicted upon him by an angered Dark Lord and his bloodthirsty followers, she sponged him down with lukewarm water, red-tinged water staining the crisp bed sheets and carpet. Then she changed into a light morning gown and dressed him in his favorite housecoat.

And then she kissed his brow, the skin now mended, if a bit raw still. His eyes fluttered open and met her blue ones. They shared a smile, hers relieved and his grateful, and slowly made their way down to the dining room table, where a small breakfast spread awaited them. The sun was risen, its light spilling into the open room. Comfortably they dined together, sitting side by side looking out toward the window, welcoming the new day as the fresh start it was.

"Lady Malfoy," Lucius whispered, briefly raising his glass in a toast to his wife. Narcissa leaned over and caught his lips in a sweet kiss. He buried his face in her curls, taking in the scent of her shampoo. Nothing else had to be said, and Narcissa only sighed and held his hand.


	6. Vulnerability

**The Noble House of Black**

_Vulnerability_

daydream11

for ladylucius of LiveJournal

Written July 16, 2009

* * *

Draco fidgets in his restricting clothes; the evening robe he wears is new, fresh from the dressmaker's only three hours ago, and the stiff fabric scratches his skin something terrible. He's hungry, too, and the inviting smells drifting even onto the small patio where they all stood from the nearby kitchens makes his stomach growl. The other kids won't come near him tonight; they recognize his frustration, so he stands alone in one corner, watching the adults mingle and grimacing at their phony, pitched giggles, and is very near to tears because he wants to wear something soft, damn it, and stuff his face.

His father beckons him over, and Draco arrives obediently at Lucius' side. He bows to Rodolphus Lestrange and his aunt Bellatrix. Neither of them greet him with anything other than a brief nod in his direction, then all three of them promptly ignore him. Clearly, Draco is only for show tonight, and even while he knows Lucius means well, all of it does nothing to soothe his irritation. Narcissa appears beside her husband and Draco brightens up considerably.

"Mum, I'm _hungry_." The boy says this a bit too loudly and openly, eliciting genuine laughter from those nearby. His parents can only smile; even Malfoys must yield to the power of children's honesty and the state of their stomachs.

"In a little while," she promised. She smoothes down his hair with affection and bends down to kiss his forehead. "Why don't you ride your broom to pass the time? Go on, and be careful not to ruin your clothes." The entire party grins as Draco bounds off around a corner. The manor grounds he hardly notices on his way to the broom shed and a small field where he and Lucius fly, and his heart rejoices once he's free of his eveningwear and soaring high – ten feet, if that, but it's high to _him_.

"Draco." He glances below him and he finds Aunt Bella, standing still and silently, on the field's edge. She didn't yell, and it's a bit blustery out, but he can hear her just fine. He makes a wide turn and carefully steers the broom toward the ground, but once he's closer to the ground the broom flips over and dumps him unceremoniously to the ground. An ominous crack reaches his ears, and then the pain. Oh, the _pain_.

The wail leaves him before he even realizes he's crying at all, and he clutches his broken wrist and kicks his legs against the ground. Through his tantrum he sees his aunt on his level, and startled, he meets her gaze fully and opens his mouth for her help, but before he is able to say anything she has his chin in her hand and has a look of such disgust on her face that his sobs, immediately, subside.

"Those of Black blood," she hisses, her tone ferocious and stern. If Draco had been older than six he would have recognized a hint of desperation, too. "_Never_ cry in public." He is so surprised by this sentiment that he doesn't notice until he arrives back at the patio, dinner laid out on a long table before him, that she healed his wrist. He flexes it cautiously, then slides into a seat in between the young Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson miserably. They politely leave him alone.

During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Bella's words come flooding back in a haze as he looks at himself in the dirty mirror in the first floor girl's bathroom. Moaning Myrtle is flitting about, offering condolences and cursing his enemies in alternating succession, and Draco clutches the sink. He does not want to cry, and he's gone so long without tears that it seems completely stupid that it may be in _this_ place – a lonely, damp, abandoned bathroom with a slightly manic ghost – he finally breaks.

Yet, he isn't surprised to find himself dry heaving, choking on his own saliva when the tears finally do flow. He makes no effort to stop them, and it's actually a relief. For once Myrtle is still, a bit shocked – she knows he is damaged in more ways than one, but she _never_ expected him to _cry_ – but her chilly presence is soothing anyway. Black blood means nothing to her, and neither does the façade it requires.

"Don't hold it in," Myrtle tells him, and Draco gratefully accepts this new advice.


End file.
